


Build My Love A Bower

by SinnamonSpider



Series: Stereo Love: Excerpts [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Kinda Schmoopy, Nostalgia, Song Lyrics, Sweet, Tumblr Prompt, Wincest if you squint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-29
Updated: 2017-03-29
Packaged: 2018-10-12 09:35:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10487718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SinnamonSpider/pseuds/SinnamonSpider
Summary: Dean sings in the shower when he thinks Sam isn't around.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is a response to March's prompt on the SPN Song Creations Challenge: songs covered by Jensen. My prompt was "Wild Mountain Thyme" by James Taylor. I quickly came to realize that there are about a thousand versions of this song and the lyrics are a little different in most of them. I wasn't a fan of the Taylor cover, so after much searching, this fic is based on the version by Bittersweet and Briers. 
> 
> There's no real pairing for this; it's Wincest if you squint, but probably only because everything I write is a little Wincest. Feedback is always appreciated. 
> 
> Standard disclaimers apply.

Sam let himself into the hotel room, balancing a tray with two massive coffees and a bag of sugar-laden pastries: breakfast, Winchester-style. "Got your morning diabetes," he called out, but the room was empty. He could hear the shower running.

Dropping his burden on the tiny table, Sam extricated Dean's steaming coffee and wrapped it in his nearly-dry towel from his own shower this morning, an effort to preserve as much heat as possible. Chivalry exhausted, he rifled through the bag of sweets, gleefully taking the only cherry danish. He left the frosted cinnamon roll for Dean, taking the glazed one instead: his own health came first, before any further breakfast-retriever privileges. He settled in the chair, opening his laptop and perusing his notes from last night on the potential case they were heading for today.

A voice, tempered by shower acoustics, came from within the bathroom. Dean hadn't heard his call, then; he only sang in the shower when he was sure he was alone. Hard to judge, of course, as made obvious by the fact that Sam knew of any impromptu bathtime concerts at all, but Sam certainly wasn't going to go public with his knowledge. He didn't catch Dean very often, so it was a little treat, rare and to be cherished. Dean only sang when he was in a good mood.

This morning's selection was "Wild Mountain Thyme": not in heavy rotation on Radio Dean, but one of Sam's favourites. He'd heard Dean sing the song in the shower for years and wondered at it. It wasn't Dean's usual taste in music; it had a distinctly traditional, folk song air to it, and the lyrics were flowery enough to almost be comical. "Yon pure crystal fountain" was definitely not in Dean's day-to-day vernacular.

Sam had been stumped for years, until one night in a small, quiet bar in a town just outside of Boston. They'd been a few beers in already, and when someone spent their quarter on James Taylor’s cover, Sam had been amazed to see Dean's eyes grow misty and his ears redden the way they did when he was embarrassed.

It had taken twenty minutes and two more beers - on Sam's tab, if he wanted to be a nosy bastard - to get the story from Dean.

"Dad used to sing it to Mom," he said gruffly, picking idly at the label on his bottle. "And she'd hum it around the house, usually when she was brushing her hair. I was little, but it stuck in my head." He cleared his throat suspiciously, sniffing harder than the balmy May night called for. "Now shut up and drink your beer."

He'd refused to give Sam anything more. Possibly there was no more to give: he'd only been four when Mom died and it was amazing that he remembered the tune at all. But Sam couldn't reconcile the memories he had of his father with the image presented by Dean: John Winchester, lighthearted and still young, singing to his pretty wife while their little boy listened. He'd felt a familiar little twinge of jealousy at the things Dean had gotten, even briefly, that he hadn't had a chance to experience for himself.

Ever the researcher - or geek, as Dean put it - Sam had looked up the song, read the history, listened to various versions. Whatever he'd been searching for, he'd never really found. He wasn't even sure what it had been. But the rare occasions he was treated to the song, filtered through the bathroom door, was enough.

" _I_ _f my true love will not go, I will surely find no other, to pull wild mountain thyme, all around the purple heather..._ "

When the sound of the spray cut off, Sam waited a bit before calling out again. "Got your morning diabetes." It didn't count if Dean hadn't heard it the first time.

A pause, and then: "Be out in a minute."

Dean emerged in a cloud of steam, dressed and shaved. Sam motioned to the bag of pastries. Dean gave him a suspicious look. Sam got up and hastened to the swaddled coffee, removing it from the towel nest. "Kept it warm for you."

"Thanks." Dean was still glowering at him. Sam resorted to distraction. "Ate the cherry danish, though."

The admission of such a transgression was enough to grab Dean's attention. "You rat bastard," he accused. He snatched up the bag, emerging with the frosted cinnamon roll and stuffing it in his mouth with an injured air. "Those are my favourite."

"That's why I ate it."

Dean made a face at the cheese danish left to him, but balanced it on top of his coffee cup nonetheless. He crumpled up the empty bag and lobbed it at Sam. "C’mon, you bitch, let’s go."

They climbed in the car and left the motel in the blinding sunlight. As they pulled onto the freeway and Dean began to whistle "Wild Mountain Thyme", Sam turned his head to look out the window, hiding the smile on his face.

 


End file.
